


a prima vista

by Caevon



Series: Musical Terms of the Alphabet [1]
Category: Twosetviolin, Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Canon Compliant, First Meetings, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-18
Updated: 2021-03-18
Packaged: 2021-03-27 14:15:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30124080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caevon/pseuds/Caevon
Summary: The first time they meet.
Relationships: Eddy Chen & Brett Yang, Eddy Chen/Brett Yang
Series: Musical Terms of the Alphabet [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2216925
Comments: 1
Kudos: 16





	a prima vista

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction and the story is not meant to reflect or represent reality.

The first time they meet, it's in maths tutoring on Friday evening, tired and overwhelmed with a week's worth of school. Brett wants to go home; he's a musician, not a mathematician, and he'd rather be anywhere but here. He thinks he would rather jump off a cliff right now than study something in college with mathematics, doesn't understand why he has to be here, doesn't want to be here.

There's something on his worksheet about logarithms and Euler's number that Brett doesn't understand-- Algebra II is a pain, and he wonders why he can't be allowed to just take regular eighth grade math like the rest of his classmates. He's already skipped two grades of math, and it's still not quite enough for his parents, apparently, because he's going to be a doctor when he grows up and doctors use math.

For some reason, Brett highly doubts that doctors spend their days doing calculus, but it's not like there's anything he can do about his parents, really.

"We're starting in around a minute," says Huang _lao shi_ , and Brett sighs and takes out a pencil and a rubber out of his bag, resigning himself to two hours of torture.

God, he can't wait to get out of this hellhole so he can go practice for orchestra rehearsal tomorrow. He really doesn't want to make an embarrassment of himself especially on the first day; he can already envision the orchestra laughing at that kid messing up at rehearsal, since he'll be the youngest there probably, and he's frankly terrified.

The door slams open.

Some kid practically runs into the classroom, out of breath. "Sorry I'm late," he says, panting, earning himself the stink-eye from Huang _lao shi_. "I just came from another lesson. I'll be earlier next time, I swear."

The teacher sighs. "Sit down over there," he tells the kid in Mandarin, pointing at the vacant seat next to Brett. "Get your papers out. We're starting soon and I don't want to wait." The kid turns red but obediently sits in the only available seat left, next to Brett, and begins unpacking his bag.

He looks a little younger and a little shorter than Brett, which scares him a little because Brett's already the youngest one in maths tutoring class-- everyone else is in high school, getting a little extracurricular help because a) they're Asian and b) their parents can afford it, but Brett's here because he's learning above his grade level.

 _Don't need more child geniuses around here,_ Brett thinks to himself, because he can already envision his mother in his head comparing him to the younger kid and asking him why he can't be in Precalculus already. _Heaven forbid he's some violin prodigy too._

Then he sees the familiar dark mark under the kid's chin, and the calloused fingers on the left hand, and he asks. "Do you play the violin?" Brett blurts out, without really thinking, and mentally slaps himself afterward because he probably sounds like some stalker asshole.

The kid turns to him, the light falling on his neck so that the violin hickey is more obvious than ever, and Brett realizes his question was probably very stupid. "Yeah, I do," the kid says, smiling, and jerks his head in the direction of Brett's neck, eyes roaming over the telltale mark there. "And you?"

"Yeah, same," Brett responds. "I guess the neck gave it away?"

The kid nods. "Was pretty obvious, huh?"

One of the high schoolers in front of them turns around to glare, and they go back to preparing for class. Brett writes his name over his worksheet and copies the warm-up question on the board, which is something about Pascal's triangle or some other crap, and tries his best to solve it.

"What grade are you in?" the kid next to him asks him, again. "I'm in seventh. And I'm Eddy, by the way."

Brett turns back to the kid-- no, Eddy-- and looks around to see if Huang _lao shi_ is spying on them before answering. Their teacher is currently occupied with the projector, a newish-looking machine with brand new EXPO wet erase markers and plastic slides to write on. "I'm Brett and I'm in eighth," he answers, once he makes sure he's safe. "Darn, you gotta be pretty good at math to be here."

Eddy ducks his head, but he's grinning. "I guess so," he acknowledges. "My mum and dad want me to be a doctor and they keep making me take all these classes and stuff. And they made me learn violin and piano."

Brett smiles back. "I think we're in the same boat here."

The next two hours aren't that bad, after all; Brett learns that Eddy came in late because he had a makeup violin lesson after school, and he tells Eddy about the piece he's playing (Bach) and how he keeps messing up the first chord. Eddy's nice and makes him laugh and they help each other on the maths they don't understand, and they exchange landline numbers. That night, they part with promises to meet again next Friday.

Their next meeting comes a little sooner than that.

The next morning, Brett's up nice and early, tired and wanting nothing more than to go back to bed after a meagre six hours of sleep. He stayed up to midnight, practicing of course, and wakes up at seven in the morning so he can have breakfast and drive downtown to the old museum where the youth orchestra is meeting.

He's not surprised when he walks into a room of teenagers that are a full foot taller; half of them even have beards. Scanning the room, Brett knows a grand total of zero people, and doesn't know where he's supposed to sit or who his deskie is.

Then:

"You're that kid from maths tutoring!"

Eddy is a breath of relief, a weight being lifted off him-- Brett knows someone, at least, even if it's a younger kid he met only twelve hours ago, and brushes away the mild annoyance he feels at the younger kid who's as good at math as he is and as good at the violin, too, and beams at him.

It's nice, too, when he learns that Eddy is going to be his deskie and they're third desk in the first violins, an impressive feat for the youngest members of the orchestra. The music is difficult and he didn't practice as much as he ought to have, but Brett's got Eddy now, and they have each other, and that's good enough.

Sounds blend into one another and become something beautiful and unique in itself, the winds and brass and percussion and strings all together, and it's nothing Brett has experienced before. Sure, he's played in orchestra before, but he's not sure if being concertmaster in that crappy middle school orchestra when he was in sixth grade counts.

This orchestra, where people have to be good to audition in and get a spot, makes Brett think he's possibly fallen in love with music all over again, and his new friend is sitting on the inside of the desk, vibrato rich and bows full.

_(He'll fall in love again and again when he joins the Australian Youth Orchestra later, over the summer, and then the Conservatorium Orchestra then the great Sydney Symphony Orchestra years later, but that's a story for another day.)_

He doesn't get all the notes right, sight-reads a ton of it, air-bows when he doesn't want to stick out while playing out of tune and hopes the conductor doesn't make their desk play alone, but Brett tells himself "fake it till you make it" and makes it, in the end.

"My mum wants to invite you over for dinner next weekend," Eddy tells Brett after rehearsal is over, and their parents are already chatting away amicably. "We live like, twenty minutes away."

There's something warm that expands in Brett's chest, like sunlight on a summer day that fills him up from the inside: happiness, he thinks, at meeting his first friend who shares the same love for music that he has.

It's only the beginning of their journey, here, somewhere in Brisbane, and maybe maths tutoring was really just a blessing in disguise.

**Author's Note:**

> hello and welcome to a little series i'm starting! hopefully going to post every 1-2 weeks. it's going to be a collection of short snapshots and memories through time, titled with musical terms in order of the alphabet.
> 
> i remember the first time i ever played with a good orchestra-- it was 100x better than the shitty high school orchestra i'd played with, and every person who got in passed two rounds of auditions. i was first violin, and listening to it was almost surreal in its beauty. brett's reaction is based partially off that :D


End file.
